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Abraham Smith is the author of Hank (Action Books, 2010) and Only Jesus Could Icefish in Summer (Action Books, 2014). He teaches at University of Alabama and shares his time between Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and Ladysmith, Wisconsin.

for yam sir: elevated blues

This poem is from a longer work, written in dedication to Abraham Smith's canine companion, Rodney.

probably the heat in the bama walMART parkin lot
curls the edges of the masking taped penciled on
a half crapped crate baby RODNEY stretchy snow legs
and sweet potato continent blotches down
his back LOST aka abandoned
as the hoarder's drawers of one rub off 'em
or three hotel motel soaps quiet lost sweeeeet
consonance that he was what i am saying
abused a u e less not sure if the colorless dust
of town on a town BOOT or iff red clay heavy cough
on the wheel wells of a grrr TRUCK man
fat he does not love maybe asleep
when he goes WahOOF it's a buffet style he's
in the aisles snake-biting every gristle yawner high on Dew
very un-berry slapper of the back of a kid's head i know at WALfart
he would drop every awful eater of a kid's toy dream if he COULD
nice though this snow grandma
she's old but she does not complain
in her head she's young she's agreed
to blow up the birthday balloons in this pic
rodney is balloon being lung prized
by new old grandma snow who has seen it all but has grace not class lives
days in a day ooh surprised and weeeeeeeee
WE agree he's cloud weave with winter brush brown
with that sense of sweet rush and sweet sleep
happy yes dropping pumpkins on the seine maybe
any river nothing ever HURT or broken again
YAM is irked by hawks so vanilla tapioca plus yam equals HAWKS no no?
like little spat wrecked broke ladders up there on sky
he does that liberator quIxote
of that hawk squid on high angel net sounder?
protector of the fair soft prawn field mouse
or say purgatory worrier warrior I just know THEY never
not even into the punky pines skate or sink
when HE is bounding
hey he's ablution quencher he's piggy WALmm biterrr
mr presh mr ipod rod mr rodeo
mr yam man mr roodle strudel mr dip
thee in the pond and try and drink
while you swim cack cack hey he's
coughing he got a little pond in
his lung he's fine yam yond spondee lap sun
yeep yeep and woof woo whoa uhoh buzzard you too
best go tilt tilt over some other open country
and CAME THE tornado like a thumbprint
of a nobody dream of weird wolf water
water left laying in a U of a pipe how it'll
weird fast with fasted black grey and CAME The tornado
bad water thumbprint checking the melon's coats
to this revolving numberless anti-perfume keen
windows bursted SEEDS of glass if you went to planting pane crap
how many lost pet grow out of that fire ant dirt
how many wind thrown collars jingle
in the pines like the bone in bum coin
he's a bathtub fellar in thunder he's a nervous
mervis in a storm he's an under bed hider
he's learning today to gradual
gradually graduate back out light from under bed
tho every dog does need a den
some close space to do the deepest dreaming in
maybe his grandpapa was a hammock full of the farthest thing from schemes
maybe the cloudy brushy two he lunged from
wore a bed shape maybe the beds up there in high light
never did squeak maybe if they did peep spring cry out it was the peat
of a pert chipmunk hiving in a dust hole
or a bluecoat angel squirrel roD will adjust
your back for you tugging the leash
in shocked joy atonal squeal astonish
as the newness of a smaller runner brings him back
to wonderful here's a happy to run
towards not away is to smile
of brush and of snow here's round blotty pine
he's turned his cinnamon back on
so you know don't we? on
every sappy sticky limb
sinks a hawk
mouse beak unmoused
and i quote damn yam cop grrr the hawk collective
leaving a little purple grr burp out into the light
the walmarts turn toadstools toads are dining on
with a lobster bib eructated of toadstools
oho they are eating themselves
oho the sky for once uncast in wing
love you Roodle let's go tin-
tern that abbey walk it
reel rite ripe rise rolling 'gain

Abraham Smith

Abraham Smith is the author of Hank (Action Books, 2010) and Only Jesus Could Icefish in Summer (Action Books, 2014). He teaches at University of Alabama and shares his time between Tuscaloosa, Alabama, and Ladysmith, Wisconsin.

runt crouched in
the dark part of the culvert
every sugar road
half a bag shy
of the flour roads
every here we go crow
spoiled at the touch
of gun holes in signs
love is inside
light wet seeds
nailed into
the crawlspace
between eyetooth
and barred goon

like summer melon
hit by a part
from a washing machine
yes seeds but no
seeds to bean
the oils from
I run olive
oil all in my glasses
make it so I only see in sleep
wedge of bread
masks the crow
a clown you know
fat white nose
pecked once
and dropped
from yonder pine
your smashing legs
uncrossed
god your